Chocolate Wisdom: True or False?

I had one of those little pieces of Dove dark chocolate today. You know, the ones with the little messages printed on the inside of the foil wrapper? And it read:

"The further out of reach, the stronger the temptation."

Do you find this to be true? And is there a difference in the veracity of that statement when:

1. applying it to a literal, physical object of temptation at a physical distance (such as a piece of chocolate sitting on your desk versus across the room where you can see it but not reach it)

versus:

2. applying it to a more subjectively measured object of temptation at a different kind of distance (such as the Israelites wishing to go back to the way things were in Egypt, perhaps more a measure of emotional than physical distance)?

Another Free Ice Cream Public Service Announcement

Because I care, I pass this along. Visit a Starbucks on June 29!

When No Means Yes (in Sri Lanka, Anyway)

Considering some international business travel? You'd better be sure you know what you're getting into:

Those Hissing Guatemalans
Raise an Eyebrow to Fiji
Did the Dutchman Say I'm Crazy, or Do I Have a Phonecall?
Poland: Where Vodka is Finger-Flickin' Good
How to Come Home with Free Slovakian Souvenirs
Never Hug a Scotsman
The Germans and French are Just What You'd Expect

Discover these and other handy cultural tips, courtesy of DHL. The things you learn while shipping a package....

Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid

SHOULD THE ELEVATOR DOORS FAIL TO OPEN
DO NOT BECOME ALARMED,
THERE IS LITTLE DANGER OF RUNNING OUT OF AIR
OR OF THIS ELEVATOR DROPPING UNCONTROLLABLY

-- The small black sign in the elevator at work

And the Dog Snoozed On

Anybody else feel that earthquake? I'm four floors up in a small office building in West L.A., and we had more than our fair share of rock & roll for a temblor that was centered in San Bernardino County.

So as I was sitting here at my sturdy wooden desk, wondering how long the shaking would continue and deciding whether or not to get underneath, I realized I had a dog with me -- Kandy, the 8-month-old Labrador I'm puppysitting this week. Would she whine? Bark? Chew through my leg to get out from under the desk and bolt down the hallway?

Then came the gentle snoring. I don't think she's concerned.

Late Barking News

After more than two years of prayer and perseverance, I have finally been given the thumbs-up to raise a guide dog puppy!

Thank you to those who have stood with me in praying for the fulfillment of this dream. God has been faithful to provide the perfect circumstances: I am in a terrific job at an organization where volunteerism is supported and encouraged, working with people who are excited about my participation in this project. I have my own office, with plenty of room and a door. It seems everything has fallen into place, and I know it's no accident.

Please join me now in praying that the dog I receive won't be a complete spaz.

I'll keep you posted.

Technology Foils Me Again

No matter what I do, I will never defeat the printer. Every time I use it, something goes wrong. Out of paper? Paper jam? Empty ink cartridge? Those are all fixable things, easy things. The most common obstacle to successful printing on the good ol' Epson 980N is simply...rebellion. It won't tell you what's wrong, it just won't work. Things may or may not show up in the print queue. Sometimes there's a flashing light on the back of the printer, sometimes not.

Today I spent the requisite twenty minutes, turning it off and unplugging it and waiting a minute and plugging it back in and turning it back on and clearing the print queue and quitting out of the document and restarting my computer and doing a Native American rain dance and offering the printer twenty dollar bills and a place of prominence near the window so it could enjoy the beautiful sunny Southern California afternoon.

Nothing.

So finally, I resorted to threats. In all seriousness, full voice in the office supply room, I said, "Okay. You're going to print for me now. Or there will be consequences."

I noticed David standing there as I turned around to walk out the door. He didn't seem phased.

So after a five-minute trip to the restroom and a quick check of my computer, which led me to believe my documents had been printed, I went to the printer.

On the tray was one piece of paper. In large, bold letters, it read:

"HA! HA! CONSEQUENCES, SHMONSEQUENCES! -- The Printer. "

Oh, sure, it was David's handwriting. But maybe it's mastered forgery too, just to spite me.

An Open Letter to Mispronouncers of Plain and Reasonably Phonetic English Words

Dear English Language Offenders:

It has recently come to my attention that there is a vast conspiracy. Of you. Against me.

Me: hapless word nerd, fighting the good but apparently fruitless fight for correct pronunciation. You (surprisingly): white, middle-to-upper-middle class, native English-speakers with at least a two-year college degree. Many of you, indeed, are of even higher socioeconomic status and hold even more advanced degrees, and should therefore know better. And yet, the offense continues.

Why do you torment me? Why do you insist upon drinking "melk" -- or "myilk," or, heaven forbid, "malk" -- in your "expresso" and setting off "nookyaler" bombs in countries "acrost" the world and sending your children off to "kinnygarden" and eating "donits" covered with "peanits" (and please do be careful with that one)? One might even say the list goes on, "excetra, excetra."

It is as though there is a toggle switch in my brain, the opposite ends labeled "mental homeostasis" and "murderous rage." And every time one of you says the word "samwich," I can feel a finger on that switch. Waiting. Waiting.

Ebonics and other American cultural linguistic phenomena aside, I remain baffled. I do not speak today of mistakes in grammar, punctuation or syntax. Nor do I speak of regional dialects (though they mystify me as well, what with some of you putting "earl" in the engine, using the "terlet" in the men's room and "pahking" the "cah"). These are not words of freshly foreign origin; they are not new to this part of the world. No one is asking you to stand up and represent in the face of such linguistic hurdles as "Quetzalcoatl" or "schadenfreude" or "trompe l'oeil." This is plain English, people.

And it's not even tricky plain English, like that I Love Lucy episode in which Ricky, in a comically stereotypical non-native-English-speaker way, stumbles over "rough," "through," and "bough" as he is reading a bedtime story to Little Ricky, his fiery Cuban hackles raised at the absurdity of three different pronunciations of the same letter grouping. You should all know better. You should.

What's more, I think you do know better, and I think you are just waiting to see how much more I can take before I snap.

So I have an idea. I will fight back. I will foil you by re-educating your offspring. My Center for the Proper Pronunciation of Childhood Dining Delicacies will eliminate this growing problem by rehabilitating our nation's youth who have been taught, whether by encouragement or by simple lack of correction, to describe a popular pasta dish as "puh-sketti." While the Center does not yet have funding, I am certain to receive adequate financial support from John Malkovich, who was tragically forced to abandon his birth name of Milkovich when, as a young actor, he bowed to the pressure of the mispronouncing masses. Oh, yes. Our dream lives on, and someday we will prevail.

And from that day forward, you will never again pierce my eardrums -- and my soul -- with your torturous word mangling.

Viva la Revolucion,

Jenny

Beyond Beautiful

Amazing. Apparently, the Arrowsmiths have what it takes to keep doing the same old song and dance for eighty years.